Neglect
by Tail Ring
Summary: Sasha makes a mistake and takes the time to understand the problem.


_A/N: This was born from a text post I saw on tumblr, made by user callow-maturity. Takes place over the course of the first game._

 _Source: post/155077155314/do-you-think-sasha-heard-maloof-crying-in-the-gpc_

* * *

A horrid creak and the resounding bash of metal on metal made Sasha jump, almost levitate, in fright, his squared body jerked diagonally away from the controls of his brain tumbler. It seemed that one of the children had entered the Geodesic Psycho-Isolation Chamber, quite brashly, perhaps planning to meet and coax him for a lesson in Marksmanship. The Psychonaut was well-aware of the rumours concerning his secret lab, the thoughts of children loud and easy to detect. Their own whispering and gossip did little to help hide it either.

His shaded gaze looked up to the entryway, anticipating the excited tumble of limbs and a spritely chattering, a stare of awe to complete the image. The last of the faint vibrations flitted through his chest; the visitor did not emerge. Sasha waited.

The sheer stillness of his lab was disturbed by raspy murmurs, scratching against the steel. A command to investigate had scarcely been issued when a piercing wail shot it down. _Ah_. A child, specifically, Maloof. He'd grown accustomed to this particular screamer, as Milla always seemed to be comforting him.

Surely, if he was in the pod, he had the button with him? Perhaps the dark simply spooked him and – another wail – he did not have it. A deep frown made itself at home on Sasha's face; sometimes he wondered if he put too much faith in these psychic campers.

Work had to be done, regardless of the distraction; it simply meant that more of his time underground was definitive than originally planned. The bubbling hiccups of a sob accompanied him as he floated over to the brain tumbler and resumed clacking on the keys. The rhythm of his rapid typing calmed him, seeing the algorithms appear on screen got his brain to work, eyes deftly spotting errors, fingers quick to remedy them.

For a while, his investment in calibrating the brain tumbler was enough to almost forget that a seven-year-old wept above him, the wonderful clicking and the adjustment of dials drowning out the mournful melody. Gradually, the cries became more desperate, and to combat them his tapping became louder, the beginning of an erratic tune. A warbling sob hit against his nerves, hands typing out code absent-mindedly, a few digits slipping prompting in an unregistered command. The scientist huffed in disdain and reworked it, noting how the jagged sound of the keys added to the cacophony of tears.

A tug-of-war for the dominion of the soundscape commenced, the intensified tinkering of the brain tumbler against Maloof's howling cries. Sasha found himself losing focus, hands fiddling with whatever made the loudest noise, stopping every so often to repair deliberate mistakes. Halfway through the pull of a stiff lever did he realise what he was doing; single-handedly destroying his own machine. With a furtive start, he pushed it back into place with some force, glasses sliding down his nose to reveal widened eyes. Another bawling session began.

With a repressed sigh, he accepted his fate, destined to be trapped underground until the child left without his intervention; somehow. He straightened himself and repositioned his glasses, sight fixed upon the controls of the machine.

Although a therapist, as well as a Psychonaut, his profession dealt primarily with adults. Children were a different beast altogether; they needed to be protected, to be informed of right and wrong, to be nurtured. Sasha simply did not have the time or ability to provide such things; he was there to observe and test, not comfort and coddle; that was Milla's forte, and even Oleander's, to an extent, though he dealt with discipline for the most part.

A piercing, forlorn screech made him wince, hands shielding his ears, and no sooner had he done so was there a great clang, a hit he figured, from how the ceiling light trembled.

Silence.

Whatever happened had saved him from his unspeakable torture. Composing himself, he returned to work once more, hearing the mechanism of the concealed entryway unveil itself to its discoverer.

"Agent Nein? I'm here for the advanced training."

* * *

Razputin had left after being subjected to the brain tumbler. He was not able to defend himself from a creature of his own mind, but this was not unexpected in young psychics who often had little control of their mental worlds. Nevertheless, he set off to obtain a Marksmanship badge from Agent Cruller, as he instructed, to continue his training.

Currently freed from responsibility, Sasha decided to go out for some fresh air; to smoke. Maloof had given him something of a headache. Additionally, he was not keen on another camper blocking his only exit, and walked over to the staircase. He levitated up, the stairs being for children who had not yet mastered their levitation skills, patting his coat pocket for his cigarette case. Reaching the top, he hovered momentarily before ascending, hands busy with extracting a cigarette.

The trapdoor opened upon sensing his presence, and he stepped out in a crouch, too tall to stand in the pod and was greeted with a beam of light; it was open.

Placing the unlit cigarette in his mouth, he crept out, examining his surroundings for any children as he emerged. Lighting it with his pyrokinesis, he took in a long drag, smoke cooling his senses and corroding his headache. With every inhalation came the restoration of his equilibrium, chemical fog rising into nothingness against the wooded surroundings.

The wisps of Milla's psi-energy curled around his mind and he granted her access without a second thought, destroying the butt with a quick burst of fire.

' _Sasha, darling, did you hear?_ ' Came her telepathic voice, her lack of greeting and concerned tone had him instinctively lean in to listen, as if she were there with him.

' _Hear of what?_ ' He queried.

' _Poor Maloof came over and told me that he'd been locked in the GPC, little thing was trembling, and, oh, he looked terrible, Sasha!_ ' Her sorrowful voice weighed on his conscience and he stiffened under the pressure.

He responded to avoid suspicion. ' _That sounds awful._ ' He spoke from experience.

' _It is. I asked him how he got there, but he didn't want to tell me, and of course I could read his mind but, you know how it is, it's better when they tell you themselves._ ' His heart sank into the pit of guilt, ' _He's just so sensitive, you know? Ah, I hope it is not a bullying problem…._ ' The German could envision his partner recalling this, with her face in profile and her gaze vacant and low; it pained him. The urge to apologise arose, but he could not, should he want to remain out of the path of her contempt, and he didn't want to upset her more than he already had.

' _How did he get out?'_ He detoured away from the current subject.

' _He told me that Razputin broke the door open and released him. Such a good boy._ ' She cooed.

' _He is._ ' The man echoed her praise.

' _Milla_ ,' Regret was the organiser of this event, ' _I will speak with Maloof about what happened today. He might open up to me.'_ He just ensured that the encounter would occur; not of his own will, either. There was a pause, and the German's heart began to race, wondering if he'd been too forward, if he'd been discovered, when she spoke again, ' _Thank you, Sasha_.' An exhale of gratitude.

' _You are welcome, Agent Vodello_.' She always was. They exchanged goodbyes and she retreated, severing the connection. Sasha looked out onto the forbidden grounds, quiet and serene. Shaking his head in resignation, he stooped and turned back into the GPC; his disciple would be back soon.

* * *

With the gifted Razputin earning his Marksmanship Merit Badge, and the important and official Psychonauts business attended to, Sasha embarked to fulfil the final and most dreaded appointment in his schedule. Treading the given path, he mentally drew up possibilities of conversation, algorithms, to extract the desired information.

Gravel crunched beneath his shoes, and he kept his mind open for woeful, whimpering thoughts; he didn't need to be alert to hear sobbing, though, so that was optional. The shadow of the main lodge draped over him, and he stopped, sensing the familiar, impish telepathic waves of Kitty Bubai emanate from the building; no Maloof. Not wanting to have any unnecessary confrontations with other students, he continued, following the wooden bridge to the lakeside. As he walked, he occasionally glanced through the gaps of the supporting beams, wary, shrinking in size the further along he went.

The German had to be open, neutral, simple and direct, as anxiety thrived on the nuances of complex interactions, and he certainly did not want to distress the boy, for that would not end well for either of them. Reaching the last stubs of supporting beams, Sasha levitated onto the boardwalk, and as he settled, so did the inklings of trepidation. He pressed on, the thrum of his soles on softened wood simultaneously agitating and relaxing him.

Lake Oblongata came into view, and he stopped for the third time, scanning the bay, spotting Milla's levitation class, currently in-session. ' _Chops, Clem, Crystal, Phoebe…and just what is that Hedgemouse boy doing?'_ Maloof was absent, nonetheless; for someone that spent so much time around Milla, one would expect that he'd, at least, have the decency to attend her classes. Another thing to talk about. Flicking his fringe out of his eyes, the Psychonaut turned and started towards the GPC, stepping off the boardwalk and onto the grass.

This was becoming quite the expedition, annoyingly enough. Still, it was on the way to his lab, supposing that if he didn't see the boy he'd be able to seek refuge there. The familiarity of the tranquil wilderness that encompassed the GPC relaxed him, sound of the rushing river drawing closer, a personal favourite spot to wrack his brain for stubborn problems, should Agent Vodello pester him into leaving his lab.

He reached the river, and lo and behold, there was Maloof, accompanied by Mikhail. They had yet to notice him, the older boy engaged in guiding the younger one in psychic fishing, effortlessly plucking a fish from the current, passing it on into the redhead's weaker telekinetic grip. Sasha watched as the creature wobbled along an invisible line back down towards the water, and it slipped out of the wavering hold about three feet before its destination, eagerly plonking back in.

Now would be an apt time to interrupt. "Maloof," He called, voice raised a decibel. Their dual attention snapped to him, Mikhail stepping forward, readying himself, and Maloof recoiling. "I must speak with you." Relaxing, they exchanged glances, and started towards him. Sasha raised a hand, "Alone." The Russian boy's neutrality morphed into a challenging stare, the German's brow furrowing at the resistance of authority. Nervously, the seven-year-old turned to utter something to his friend, Mikhail's gaze unrelenting as he was being reassured. Finally, the older camper slackened, nodding in understanding and Maloof made his way to the man's side, turning to wave good-bye to his friend, before setting off into the wilderness.

They walked in silence, the little psychic pressing the knuckles of his clenched fist to his mouth, "You're not in trouble." Sasha clarified, and the boy gave a curt nod, hand remaining on his lip; most likely a gesture developed from thumb-sucking.

The Psychonaut lead them to an area where the entangled roots of two tall pines created an organic seat, and the German indicated to it with a relaxed arm, "We will sit here. After you." He offered politely. The boy gauged him, then made his way over, clambering up the snaking roots, and heaved himself onto it. Sasha made his way over in two, long strides and sat beside him.

"Was Mikhail teaching you psychic fishing?" An ice-breaker; Maloof stared up at him and nodded. The Psychonaut leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs, "A friend of yours?" The child's brown eyes darted to the side for a few moments and nodded again. "You can speak to me, you know. I will not get upset." Sasha assured the boy.

"…Okay." The redhead uttered meekly.

"Good." Now, to begin, "I wanted to talk to you about something that Agent Vodello informed me of," The child remained still. "She said that you'd arrived to her in a distraught state, telling her that you had been trapped in the GPC," The colour drained from Maloof's face in real-time, balled fists drawing to his lip, "Is this true?" The young psychic cowered, ducking his head in between hunched shoulders.

"Do not worry, she told me in private," The man placated, "You are not in trouble." He repeated, hand hovering over as if to stop such an idea. The young psychic watched him tentatively, and he stood his ground; the boy had quite an unnerving stare, and Sasha found himself craving nicotine under the tension.

Breaking his gaze and retracting his hands from his face, the redhead sighed defeatedly, "Yeah…."

Sasha hummed in acknowledgement, pausing to allow the confirmation to settle.

"Milla is quite concerned for your safety," He divulged, spotting a winged insect flit by. "It's worrying when a child is stuck in one of the chambers." Maloof's brow creased, attention focused on caressing his forearm, "What we'd both like to know, is how you got in there in the first place." The little psychic picked at the creases in the crook of his sleeve, a futile effort, "Were you playing?" A sharp twit from a bird nearby responded; Maloof did not.

Irritation throbbed at his temple, and Sasha's jaw began to work, the urge to smoke intensifying, "Maloof, please understand that this is for your own benefit." And for the benefit of his conscience; he didn't want to disappoint her.

Again, he was ignored, the child flicking a piece of invisible lint from his sleeve. He forbade himself from smoking within proximity to a child, but his need was beginning to overwhelm him, his patience thinning rapidly, and his body reacted instinctively, gloved hand already in his pocket. He grasped for the metal case, too late and too unwilling to resist.

Opening it, a neat row of cigarettes greeted him, and he removed one from the very end, three spots beside it empty, placing it in his mouth. The texture of paper and the taste of tobacco alleviated the pressure of his craving, and he committed to abstain from lighting it.

"Uhm, no thanks." Sasha angled his gaze towards Maloof, who scrutinised him, arm extended as if in rejection –

"Ach!" The German jumped in shock, cigarette almost falling out of his mouth had his next action not been to grit his teeth. He snapped the case closed and pocketed it feverishly. His head, suddenly heavy, fell into his waiting palm; he had unconsciously offered a seven-year-old a smoke.

"I cannot believe I did that." He mumbled, utterly despising himself.

"It's alright, I'm used to it." The German could not help but to peer over, roaming eye hidden behind the shade of his glasses. The redhead had spoken soothingly, and although he kept his distance he was now invested in Sasha's plight.

"My pop smokes a lot, and his friends do, too, so I get offered all the time, even though they don't mean to," The child explained, palm open, inciting friendliness, "Just say 'No thanks' and they put 'em away…. You don't have to feel bad about it."

He lifted his head and faced the child; for once, there was no premeditated course of action, no path of experience he could reference. Removing the cigarette from his mouth, he did the next best thing, "It concerns me how good you are at this." He replied honestly; Maloof smirked.

Sasha examined the teeth marks on the filter of his cigarette, his appetite for smoking squandered. Although it was imperfect, he did not want to be wasteful, withdrawing the case a second time, and opened it.

"You've got expensive taste, Agent Nein." The redhead pointed to the orderly contents inside.

The Psychonaut gave a wry smile, "I suppose I do." He said, slotting the damaged cigarette back into place. "The job pays well enough for me to live well within my means; why not?" The case shut with a click, and he put it away.

"No point in having money if you can't enjoy it." Maloof added, and the man agreed with a single nod. The child became bashful, brushing the curly hair on his forehead with his fingers, catching a lock of it near his temple. "You're not as scary as I thought you'd be." He muttered sheepishly, gently straightening and releasing the curl repeatedly.

"Ah, well," The man tugged the bottom of his glove, flattered. "I never am." Maloof released the lock of hair for the final time, retracting his defences, and smiled.

Sasha reflected on his behaviour. The child had displayed a maturity absent in many of the campers, going insofar as to comfort him, all without knowing, without asking, and he had done nothing to ease Maloof's mind.

"Maloof," Until now, "It is always difficult to voice one's problems, but I want you to know that every adult here is capable of helping you, no matter the issue." The Psychonaut said with a softened monotone. "I understand if you do not want to tell me, but I know that you and Milla are close. So please, if something is wrong, if someone is hurting you, you can tell her and she will help you." His open hands curled back into his lap, closing his appeal, and the young psychic mulled over the proposition.

"…I can try." He answered, voice small but steady.

"That is all we ask."

Maloof's empathic response was strong, the fear of failure shed from him, a deep and icy burn that cut across both lobes of the brain when tapped into, followed by wave after wave of relief. It was not exact, but in a way, Sasha felt the task had been accomplished.

With the conversation coming to a natural close, he spoke, "I am glad that we could have this talk." His honesty was not unappreciated, for the redhead grinned.

"Me too." The child moved and pushed himself off the seat. "Misha is waiting for me." He mentioned, avoiding stray roots as he stepped.

"Misha?" The man stood, and strode over to him.

"Yeah. That's Mikhail's nickname." His tiny accomplice informed, tilting his head back almost completely to meet the German's gaze.

"Interesting," The man mused. "I will walk back with you." Nodding, Maloof accepted the offer, and they walked side-by-side back to the stream. Summer humidity carried their amiable silence, the young psychic's arms swinging idly by his sides, Sasha contented to meander along with him.

Reaching their destination, they saw Mikhail in the exact spot he had been left in, crouched beside the stream, repeatedly drawing a figure-eight over the water, psychically controlling a hidden entity below the surface; probably a fish.

Just as he had done with his friend earlier, Maloof waved good-bye to Sasha, reuniting with the older camper, who welcomed him with a smile, his telekinetic control unaffected. The redhead sat beside Mikhail, the older boy instructing him, resuming a simpler lesson in psychic fishing, guiding the ripple into his hold.

Sasha took his leave without another word, careful to not disturb them, and followed the stream out of the wilderness.

* * *

"Anything left behind will be thrown out!" Oleander's voice boomed over the intercom; such was the adage of the last few hours of camp. Campers scurried about, organising themselves in that chaotic way children do; pairs huddled together in conversation, lone wanderers squalling about misplaced property or accusing others of stealing them, and the occasional luggage case floating about, telekinetically controlled by the few whose grasp of the ability was adept.

Sasha manoeuvred the kids' cabin area cautiously, should some child rush right into him accidentally, scanning the area for lone bags and belongings. He saw Milla standing in the doorway of the cabin adjacent to an ancient pine and promptly made his way to her.

"Benny, sweetheart, your shoes are in the corner," Her gentle directions clearer now that he was close, the Psychonaut coming up beside her.

"Agent Vodello," He greeted.

"Sasha," Her favoured response to his formality. Peering into the cabin, the remaining tenants, Benny and Maloof, were preparing themselves for their exit, the large-eared boy tying his shoes, and the seven-year-old shutting his suitcase.

To ensure that their banter would remain private, Sasha initiated a telepathic link with his partner, ' _Seems like you have everything under control_ ,' He said.

' _Of course! Cannot say the same for you, darling,'_ His shoes tied, Benny grabbed his bag on the bottom bunk across from the younger psychic, and heaved it off.

' _Is it that obvious?_ ' The nine-year-old teetered about, struggling with the weight whilst attempting to steer clear of Maloof, who stared suspiciously at him.

' _To me it is_.' Cutting herself short, Milla hurriedly attended to Benny.

"Careful, darling!" She warned, taking his luggage, the boy stuttering his thanks. "You're welcome, Benny." Milla said softly, placing the bag outside the door. The large-eared camper beamed brightly, hopped off the step and collected his property with a grunt, and began the gruelling task of getting it to the bus.

' _After all,_ ' She continued, ' _We did have our brains stolen_.'

Sasha suppressed a groan, ' _Don't remind me_.'

The redhead picked up his suitcase, and the Brazilian interrupted, "I'll take care of that, sweetie." Lifted by telekinesis, the bag hovered out.

"Milla!" The boy rushed towards her and she caught him in a hug, "I'm gonna miss you," Maloof mumbled. Sasha turned away to give them some privacy.

"I'll miss you, too, baby," However, he couldn't avoid hearing them. "Thank you for being brave and telling me the truth, Maloof."

Sasha's heart fluttered, shyness and pride warming his heart and tinting his cheeks. Suddenly, his leg was embraced; it was Maloof. He froze.

"Gonna miss you, too, Sasha." The redhead tightened his hold. _Miss_ him? He had never been missed by any child in the history of his summers at Whispering Rock. And yet.

He glanced to Milla for answers. She was smiling brilliantly.

' _Go on, darling_ ,' Her mental voice whispered, ' _It's alright._ '

Inching out of his petrification, he petted the boy's head, curly locks poking between his fingers. He began to understand his partner's affinity for children. Sasha was well and truly endeared by Maloof.

"Thank you." He meant it. The young psychic released his hold, splitting a smile between the two counsellors.

"Maloof," Mikhail called, arriving at the cabin, "Ready?" He asked, and the little boy nodded, stepping out to meet him. The older camper picked up his friend's suitcase, "Ms. Vodello, Mr. Nein." He addressed tersely.

"Mikhail." The man acknowledged, Milla opting for a wink. Sasha watched the pair leave until his partner hovered in front of him.

"You've made a lot of new friends this year," She remarked, green eyes gleaming, "First Razputin and now Maloof. Is there a secret to your sudden popularity that I should know about?" She teased.

He couldn't help but humour her, "Possibly." He shrugged.

"Secretive, I see. I'll get it out of you eventually, darling."

Sasha quirked an eyebrow, "Are you implying that I should watch my back?"

"Possibly." Milla mimicked him. He grinned awkwardly, biting his lip to hide his tobacco-stained teeth. Her expression softened, became sincere, and it started something within him.

"Would you…like me to accompany you on your rounds?" He offered, uncharacteristically undetermined.

"I could use the help. Thank you, darling." She accepted, decision made for him.

Screams originating from the furthest cabin interrupted them. Kitty and Milka flew out in a violent throw of limbs, punching, kicking and clawing, and like ants to honey, the surrounding campers swarmed to the scene.

"Think you can help me get them under control?" She inquired, thumbing back to the fighting children.

Uncertain, he responded with a borrowed phrase. "I can try."

"It's all I ask."

* * *

 _A/N: I want Sasha and Maloof to have a good teacher-student relationship. Many thanks to callow-maturity on tumblr for the idea (or, fact, really) that started it all._


End file.
